Marianne Machin

Choreography, Dancing and Pop

Only Child Sep 21 She’s Gone

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This video is a dance tutorial followed by the routine in full
To skip to the routine go to 09:54

Dancing with tears in my eyes

Listen. I was already planning a dance-blog (a dlog?) about radio. I was. About how radio is EVERYTHING. About the role radio has played in people’s lives over the last year. About the resilience of radio. About the god damned m-f-ing joy of radio. And then this happens. First Dev, then Annie…then Grimmy. And now you Shaun.

Jeremy Vine once did an item along the lines of ‘when radio is your best friend’, discussing the lifeline a small talking and singing box can offer lonely or isolated people. And I listened to the old man in a remote outpost telling a tale of radio as survival and I felt it. I am that old man. So, when stations make changes to schedules, shuffle DJs around or (don’t even say it) DJs (friends!) step down/move on/get relegated to remote outposts themselves I suffer a kind of mild panic and a real sense of loss. When Sir Terry died, it hurt. It affected me way more than the other mega deaths in my lifetime…Diana, Kurt, David etc. He was family. He was in my living room for my entire childhood and remained a comforting presence for much of my adult life. Make no mistake. This shit matters.

So, you’re leaving home, Shaun. And yes, it gives me a pain, but I get it. I’m actually a big fan of taking your leave on a high and not bludgeoning something beautiful to death. So I will put my wounded feelings aside, salute you and wish you well for your next chapter. Bravo. And I could bang on about what a super smart, funny, humble radio genius you are….but that’s just words. So I made you a dance. I figured no one else would. A dance that seems to have come out a tiny bit sexy and a whole lot garden gnome. Ha ha. (I think we can blame H&O for the sexy and just take the gnome on the chin). And this is where it gets real. Thanks fella…for all of it. But especially for Everything She Wants on a regular basis.

She’s gone. I better learn how to face it.

(…and don’t go getting any ideas Greg, Lauren, the two MR’s, JV etc. etc. Stop it. Don’t.)

PS Yeh. I only found out at a later date that you didn’t jump, you were somewhat pushed. 6 Music, what were you thinking???

For Shaun Keaveny. Mark Radcliffe. Marc Riley. Greg James. Lauren Laverne. Annie Mac. Ken Bruce. Steve Wright. Jeremy Vine. Simon Mayo. Jo Whiley. Janice Long. John Peel. Terry Wogan…and so on. BFFs forever.

Disclaimer: These are not virtuoso performances. Just me, in an attic, grappling with an iPhone, creaky floorboards and my own inability to get through a take without numerous blunders. The sound is a bit ropey and the dancing could be better. No left or right instructions – do whatever feels most natural to you…mirror me or flip it and use the same arms and legs as I do. Dancers’ choice. And remember, these routines are designed to be simple and repetitive enough to learn fairly quickly but hopefully have enough substance to bring some dancing joy.

Just a groove really. It’s She’s Gone. What can you do but feel the love?

Notes to self: Um…maybe a good idea to keep feet in shot…

Next: A letter to Sam Fender
Before: Wild Horses. The Rolling Stones.

Only Child Feb 21 Wild Horses

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This video is a dance tutorial followed by the routine in full
To skip to the routine go to 10:20

Woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown

Better Things. Could a TV show ever be named more appropriately for the times we live in? For the way we all feel about what 2021 might bring? Probably not, but this fan girl blog isn’t about the significance of that phrase (although I’m happy to endorse it), no, it’s about the love and admiration I feel for this programme. For its’ kick ass feminist/liberal agenda. For the lols and the tears. For the ‘I really wish I was part of this family’ envy. For the names (pay attention). For the clothes. For the art. For the swearing. For the dance routine end of S2. And I’ll say it again (’cause it bears repeating)…for placing women front and centre in every single scene.

And not in a way you see very often. This is a show with a middle aged woman at its heart. A brash, talented, flawed, funny older woman. Struggling with single motherhood and a career in an industry whose doors slam in the faces of women of a certain age. A menopausal (gasp!) woman with a body in decline. A woman whose own mother (LOVE HER) is by turns exasperating, fabulous and a heavy burden as she slides (kicking and screaming) into the murk of dementia. A woman who feels the pain men inflict upon her friends acutely. A woman witnessing her daughters slip between her fingers as each day passes (they’ll be back!). Every frame blows my mind. This is a show about detail. Nothing is amiss. Nothing jars. And the music is part of this subtle, quietly cool aesthetic. It’s there but it’s never overwhelming and it never removes you from the Better Things world. When I looked at the soundtrack to make my choice for this routine I didn’t know most of the songs. But then, in contrast, you have the mega ‘moment’ in each series (no spoilers) where a full blown musical number just happens. You could have knocked me over with a feather end of S2, and the S4 New Orleans ep is damn near heartbreakingly perfect.

I love it for assuming intelligence of its audience. A rare thing indeed. Not every narrative is explained or spelled out. We, as viewers, just have to trust and go along for the ride. No need to sweat the small stuff (which in the case of Better Things is normally men). The boyfriends (everyone’s!) could be under the patio for all we’re told. They don’t even warrant a footnote. Ah men. They really don’t come off well here. And they are completely peripheral.  The only men with any agency in the Better Things universe are gay. And maybe Jeff. His journey from mega asshole to kind-of-decent-ish every-guy is granted rare screen time – I think only as a fable to demonstrate what redemption requires. But it’s not a straightforward battering of maleness – sometimes yes, but that would be missing the point. Because it’s a celebration of woman-ness…of what it means to be a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend. Men might not be painted very happily but then they’re barely painted at all. I’m just thinking of other shows where a female cast dominates. The Golden Girls comes to mind and there are similarities – unapologetic women ruling their own universe. Not subscribing to cliché and making us laugh and cry and root for them and wish they were our friends…

And so to the Better Things song choice. Giving me an excuse to make up a routine and write this blog in honour of a show I love. I settled on Wild Horses for two reasons…a) it’s amazing, and b) The Rolling Stones were very much a part of my musical upbringing – for good and for bad (but that’s a whole other story). And as this piece (and the show) is primarily about mothers, I will dedicate this dance to my own who had a lifelong love affair with TRS (Hello. Marianne). And wasn’t the other Marianne the inspiration for this song? I think, therefore, it chose me…

For Pamela Alice Machin. Every mom is a single mom.
…and for Peter. In memory of THAT tea towel.

Disclaimer: These are not virtuoso performances. Just me, in an attic, grappling with an iPhone, creaky floorboards and my own inability to get through a take without numerous blunders. The sound is a bit ropey and the dancing could be better. No left or right instructions – do whatever feels most natural to you…mirror me or flip it and use the same arms and legs as I do. Dancers’ choice. And remember, these routines are designed to be simple and repetitive enough to learn fairly quickly but hopefully have enough substance to bring some dancing joy.

This one is pretty relaxed (by my uptight standards). Some nice shapes to enjoy. And it’s another slow one which always helps with the picking up of the moves. I’d say mid-level difficulty but should look pretty if conquered.

Notes to self: Ribcage strikes again. Fear of an invisible lampshade.

Next: She’s Gone. Hall & Oates
Before: Cardigan. Taylor Swift

Only Child Dec 20 Cardigan

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This video is a dance tutorial followed by the routine in full
To skip to the routine go to 11:55

Blond ambition

Ok. Deep breath. I don’t know where to start with this one. My mind has been whirring with internal conversations about TS for years now. And those conversations are part of a much larger narrative for me and sum up probably the greatest peeve of my small existence. Which is simply, the denigration of pop music as not serious. Not worthy. Easy. Stupid. Throwaway. The assumption that if you dare to like pop music it surely means you’re an idiot with terrible ‘taste’…unless of course you’re being ironic and cool? Oh, well in that case, it’s fine. Go ahead. Except, it isn’t ok is it. ‘Cause really people love to sneer if you openly enjoy pop. The judgement is always the same – if you like that shiny thing over there you can’t possibly understand this weighty, grown up thing over here.  And this kind of dumb snobbery (rife!!) filters down to my choreography, which suffers exactly the same fate (just don’t ever call it cheesy)…

And so to Taylor Swift. Who somehow encapsulates the many furies I’ve felt on this topic. We’ve all watched the ascension of TS from C&W wunderkind to global pop sensation. A super talented songwriter. Smart as a whip. Activist. Feminist. Generous human being. All kinds of good grown up stuff. And yet, is this what springs to mind at the mention of her name? Sadly, no. More like oh she’s so annoying. Always with the boyfriends and the drama. Always with the frothy songs charting a life spent in pursuit of a man etc .etc. These perceptions so outweigh what she’s actually DONE (a lot). And when I try to unpick why this might be, I can only think it’s a combination of the pop music thing – as in, however good this is, it can never be THAT good – mixed with some kind of casual misogyny that refuses to see her as anything more than a pretty, blond, unthreatening GIRL. No one questions Rihanna or Ariana’s boyfriend count. Nor does Adele get berated for her lyrical content. But for Taylor, having/writing about relationships is seen as weakness. Proof that she is no more than a giddy child. Like writing about LOVE hasn’t been a thing in music since forever. Come on! There are people who have only written that stuff their entire careers and are revered as high minded poets. When Ryan Adams covered 1989 in its entirety I was left agog at the reviews. I mean, I think his intentions were totally to show respect BUT, holy moly, the reviews! They all, in one way or another, suggested that those songs, once safely in the hands of white-male-with-guitar, were transformed and newly blessed with a gravity previously lacking. Eugh. Madness. And then we have Folklore. The lockdown masterpiece. Not my words. Everyone went mad for this record, which felt like real payback for her. BUT (sadly there is a but) I started to notice a recurring theme in every review, every bit of radio play, every interview. Which was that within the first, ooh, two sentences the same thing: ‘this record was produced by Blah from The Blah and has a duet with Blah Blah’. Phew. We can all relax. It’s ok to like this record!  Cool people (men) are involved. Oh boy. That one small sentence when repeated over and over steadily eroded her achievement and seemed to act as an explanation of how it was possible for Taylor Swift to make a credible record. For purposes of research, I looked at reviews for other ‘cooler’ female artists who I imagine have a similar working relationship with their producers – Robyn, Roisin etc.- and whilst their supercool collaborators got a nod in every review the success was still roundly theirs. And when you look at the glorious middle ages of Madonna (William Orbit, Mirwais, Stuart Price) the fact that she chose those people was seen as evidence of her pop genius. Clever Madonna. With Taylor it’s more like thank goodness these clever serious people (men!) came along to save her.

There is a slight postscript to this rant in the form of Evermore, the surprise ‘sister’ record, and its’ reviews which did seem to be more about Taylor and what these two albums say about her evolution as an artist and lyricist (as opposed to piling on the praise but always with the ‘she had help’ caveat). I’m not interested in whether people like or dislike what she’s doing, I only ask that she get a fair trial…

Phew. I need to draw a line under this. TLTR.  But I can’t sign off without a quick outpouring of love for Folklore (and actually, Evermore just as much really). My album(s) of the year. Heart.

For Ella. She had a marvellous time ruining everything (ha ha. Not really).

Disclaimer: These are not virtuoso performances. Just me, in an attic, grappling with an iPhone, creaky floorboards and my own inability to get through a take without numerous blunders. The sound is a bit ropey and the dancing could be better. No left or right instructions – do whatever feels most natural to you…mirror me or flip it and use the same arms and legs as I do. Dancers’ choice. And remember, these routines are designed to be simple and repetitive enough to learn fairly quickly but hopefully have enough substance to bring some dancing joy.

This one is maybe a bit challenging – not technically, but it’s very dense choreographically (if that’s a thing). It’s taken me MONTHS (no, really) to finish because I found it hard to make the choreo live up to the song so it’s pretty overworked. I love it but then what do I know? It’s def a test of musicality and coordination so good for brain and body, but it will require a certain amount of commitment (time!) so be warned…

Notes to self: Wobble wobble wobble. How many times can a person say ‘so’ in a 10 minute window? Many many times apparently. Just do better please Marianne.

Next: Wild Horses. The Rolling Stones
Before: I’m Not Gonna Let. Colonel Abrams

Only Child Nov 20 I’m Not Gonna Let

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This video is a dance tutorial followed by the routine in full
To skip to the routine go to 11:15

Only Child. A small dance project for the times we live in

November 2020. Out of lockdown…not anymore. Watching the country/world fall apart in so many ways. Trying to comprehend a bigger picture that is so doom laden it hurts. And yet, the sun still rises (for now) and we continue to get up and go about our little lives as best we can. Each individual’s experience of this year is so different. Mine is very blessed, I know that. Some of my friends have fared less well with job losses or mental health struggles or home schooling agonies. Thus far I am untouched by this virus, my loved ones are doing ok and my finances are no worse than they ever were (lol) and so I find myself in the privileged position of being able to ponder what I’ve learned about ME ME ME during this worst-year-ever. But what does this have to do with dancing I hear you cry? Well, quite a lot it turns out…

I liked lockdown. I didn’t like why it was happening, obviously, but if we drill down to how I felt about this new way of existing, I liked it. Staying home. Not socialising. Not wasting time (no hangovers!). Being disciplined. Being productive. Of course, I like to go out and have fun, but I can also do without. Sure, I like holidays but I can live without them. My best days have always been ones where I get-shit-done. And get to dance. That is how I make peace with myself. And lockdown played into all of that. I could live this quiet life reaching for my own tiny goals in the confines of my home with no sense that I should venture outside or go to parties or achieve. It was suddenly totally acceptable to have absolutely nothing to talk about and no plans for the rest of your life. Cool. So, what does this make me? Anti-social? Cold? Dull? Hmmm. I would say all of the above to some degree. But it’s simpler than that, I’m just an only child. A seriously only child. With all the good and bad (yes, I know it’s mainly bad) the cliché of that state suggests. Independent – yes. Oversensitive – yes. Bad sharer – YES. Happy in my own company – yes yes yes. Etc. etc. And in terms of dancing…well, choreography (for me) is very much a solo endeavour. Perfect. And my little lockdown project was a revelation. It opened up a way to dance involving zero outside influence. No collaborators, no studios, no costs, no dancers, no rehearsals, no shows, no late nights. Nothing. Which sounds weird ‘cause all that stuff is really fun. BUT I lived it for a long time and it was the greatest but now is now and I want different things.

Bottom line, I’m gonna continue to make these little videos and post them here under the new Only Child banner, in recognition of my own takeaway from 2020 (loner). Which means open season…any song, any topic (rubs hands together in glee)…game on…

Oh! And the dance! Well, in this new Only Child world where anything goes so, I’m starting out with Colonel Abrahams (which could have featured in the lockdown playlist anyway). I heard this track for the first time in the TV version of She’s Gotta Have It where it’s placed front and centre in a super cool club scene (ignoring the nasty ending…). The musical set-pieces are so well done in this show (no matter what you might think of it as a whole). There’s even a stripper version of Sparklemotion grinding to The Roots. So fun. And since hearing it, I’ve been dreaming of a routine for a male dance troupe. Wearing gold capes. And as this idea can be nothing more than a pipe dream right now (including the gold cape element), I figured I might as well crack on and enjoy the 80s vibes alone…

For Caroline. From one OC to another. Leave us alone.

Disclaimer: These are not virtuoso performances. Just me, in an attic, grappling with an iPhone, creaky floorboards and my own inability to get through a take without numerous blunders. The sound is a bit ropey and the dancing could be better. No left or right instructions – do whatever feels most natural to you…mirror me or flip it and use the same arms and legs as I do. Dancers’ choice. And remember, these routines are designed to be simple and repetitive enough to learn fairly quickly but hopefully have enough substance to bring some dancing joy.

Also, I think I’ll start to rate the complexity of the choreo here so you are forewarned…‘the expertise of difficulty’ if you like (that one’s for you Jeddi). This particular number is pretty straightforward – bit tricksy in places and fast. More of an attitude than a dance…

Notes to self: Wash hair. Oh the double chin horror. And spot the deliberate mistake. Twice.

Next: Cardigan. Taylor Swift
Before: MFOR. Dancing on My Own

MFOR. Dancing on My Own #8. Robyn

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I keep dancing on my own

And so the end is near etc. etc. That is, the end of this little dancing adventure. And what fun it’s been! I started the first choreo back in April and made a promise to myself that I would continue until I got a haircut. Ha ha. That felt to me like a good marker for the end of lockdown. My lockdown anyway. And I can confirm a haircut has indeed taken place (whoever could have predicted such a simple act becoming so precious??), it’s August and hopefully we are tentatively feeling our way out of the darkness. And aside from giving me a purpose in a purposeless world, this project has been a revelation ‘cause now I have a new way to  choreograph and dance that completely bypasses the costs and stresses involved in any kind of real life performance undertaking. Which is obviously academic in August 2020 anyway. Tough times. But turns out dancing on my own really works for me…so, watch this space…

But let’s turn our attention to Robyn and Dancing on My Own. Ultimate. Sad. Banger. This was always going to be the final routine and was conceived as a collaboration with my longtime partner in crime Boogaloo Stu. We’ve worked together since forever and I often give him the bare bones of routines which he then ‘boogifies’ (i.e. makes way more entertaining) to teach as flashmobs at the many events he hosts. So choreographing this was a bit weird ‘cause it’s very different when you’ve got someone else in mind. Especially when that person has a fondness for platform shoes, knitted leotards and giant wigs. In the end I made a skeleton routine, gave it Stu who ran off with it in one direction whilst I headed off in the other to make it mine again. And thus we have two interpretations. A daft one and a dafter one. Both of which I’ll post (Boogs – where is your version??? I’m waiting. Tut tut)

Heads up: There is the sound of a doorbell about two minutes into this song. And when I was choreographing I answered my front door (two flights down) about 20 times. Each time getting more frustrated with a) everyone else in the house for ignoring the doorbell and b) the fact that there was no one  at the door. Don’t make the same mistake I did.

I guess that’s it. It’s been a pleasure. Peace out. For now…

Watch on YouTube here

Disclaimer: These are not virtuoso performances. Just me, in an attic, grappling with an iPhone, creaky floorboards and a bad haircut. The sound is a bit ropey and the elements make numerous uninvited appearances! No left or right instructions – do whatever feels most natural to you…mirror me or flip it and use the same arms and legs as I do. Dancers’ choice. The routines are as simple or as complex as want them to be…and remember, repetition is key. Happy dancing!

For Chrissie and Amanda. It’s not dancing (if it’s not with you).

Previously: Gotta Get Thru This. Daniel Bedingfield
Coming soon: Only Child, A small dance project for the times we live in